


I'll Settle for One Day

by Harpokrates



Series: Little Lies [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Force Suggestion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22112458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpokrates/pseuds/Harpokrates
Summary: Boba Fett catches a slave trying to escape Jabba's Palace. AU
Series: Little Lies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596328
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	I'll Settle for One Day

It was never really night in Jabba's Palace. Regardless of the hour, there were always little flurries of activity. Dancers practicing when Jabba was too strung out on spice to kill them for a job poorly done. Drunks stumbling around the maze like halls trying to find their way out. Guards playing bets on whatever crossed their minds.

Still. It was dark out when Boba noticed the slave trying to escape.

He watched from behind his helmet, still slumped against the wall where he had dozed off after Jabba tossed another one of his twi'lek girls to the Rancor.

The slave crept up to Jabba's dais, slow and silent. At first, it looked like some poor fool tasked with cleaning around the sleeping Hutt, and then, when the slave reached into his pocket, like another assissnation attempt. When he pulled out a scrap of metal, rather than a knife, it became clear what he was doing.

Boba watched in mild interest as he slowly slid Jabba's control box out of his loose grasp and replaced it with the metal. Jabba grunted, stopped breathing for a moment, then settled back into his stupor. The slave let out a shaky breath.

He stepped away from the dias and looked over his shoulder. He was lucky. Everyone was either asleep or Boba.

He set the control box down, then pulled a utility knife out of his pocket. Perhaps this was assissination.

The slave tucked the end of his threadbare tunic into his mouth and pulled up his sleeve. Boba squinted at him. 

Then, he held his breath and carefully sliced into his arm. He cringed, but fought through the pain until he had carved a small flap of flesh. His hand was trembling, but he managed to squeeze the skin above the cut. A glint of metal stuck out from the wound.

His slave chip. Clever. Sometimes Jabba's slaves tried to escape without removing them. That was always messy.

The slave yanked the chip out and inserted it into the control box before it could detonate for having been disturbed. The indication light pinged green, and the slave exhaled, dropping his head to the sandy floor.

It didn't take him long to collect himself, because he was up and moving. Boba watched him sneak out of the dance hall and down one of the lower passages. He waited a moment, before standing silently and following him.

He tracked the slave through the halls until he came to the exit. The slave was frantically entering codes into the lock, each one flashing red as it was rejected. Boba leaned against the doorway. The slave hissed in irritation and punched the control panel.

"The codes reset every two hours." Boba said.

The slave yelped and jumped around, holding the dagger out in front of him like it would make a difference.

Boba pushed off the wall. "No doubt the ones you have are expired."

"What do you want?"

Now that Boba stepped forwards, he could see the slave clearly. He was young, either a young man or an old boy, with a mop of blond hair. He was short and skinny and looked incredible furious.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not going back."

"You don't really have a say in that."

The slave paused for a moment, then held the utility blade up to his throat. "I could kill myself."

Boba remained silent, staring at the slave. He inhaled, and tensed, pushing almost hard enough to break skin, then sagged, dropping his hand to his side.

Boba jerked his head for the slave to follow.

"Wait."

Boba turned around, one hand on his rifle. The slave was staring at the floor.

"You—" He cleared his throat and looked up, meeting Boba's gaze through the smoked transparisteel. "You don't want to take me back to Jabba."

Boba stared at him. He didn't, did he? What would dad think of him? Nevermind the slave thing, Boba didn't care as long as he got paid, but throwing in with Jabba the Hutt? Only an idiot trusted other criminals. Truefully, Boba would have preferred employment elsewhere, but clones couldn't work in the Empire, and nowhere else paid like Jabba.

"I don't wanna take you back to Jabba," he found himself saying.

The slave swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. "You want to open the door." He twitched his hand. Normally that would send Boba reaching for his rifle, but he really just wanted to open the door.

"I want to—" Pain split through Boba's head. He grimaced and darted his hand up against the base of his skull. His legs felt like jelly.

"I want to—" he tried again. The slave was staring at him, blue eyes wide enough to show the whites.

"I—" he recognized this. Boba slammed the slave up against the door, blaster pressed against his temple.

"What was that?" He growled, knocking the slave's head with the muzzle.

"Nothing, nothing." The slave yelped, cowering back.

"Didn't feel like nothing. You," the memory of his dad's head bouncing across the arena pits flashed behind his eyes. "You're a Jedi."

"A what?" The slave whispered. His eyes were brimming over with tears.

"Who taught you?" Boba shook him.

"No, no one taught me."

"Don't lie to me!" Boba roared. "Who taught you?"

There was a clatter of footsteps. Drejek Thaan came around the corner, his hand on his truncheon. He was one of Jabba's lackeys, but he was usually tolerable when he wasn't talking.

"I heard noise. Who—" he noticed them. "Fett? What are you doing here?"

Boba didn't respond. The slave looked between him and Drejek.

Drejek leaned over and looked at the slave. "Ah, I see. Not your usual type, huh? I'll let you be then—"

He turned around, probably to gossip about what he thought he saw Boba doing with some slave. Drejek grunted, then collapsed, smoke wafting from the hole between his eyes.

Boba holstered the pistol and turned back to the slave. Jedi were worth money—a lot of money now that there weren't any of them left. Trouble was, Boba was a clone.

He considered the slave.

"What did Jabba have you do?"

"What?" The slave stuttered, still staring at the hole in Drejek's head.

"What did you do here? You a dancer, a server?" He was handsome enough for it by human standards, but Jabba had exotic tastes. More likely he was janitorial.

"No, I," he tore his eyes away from the corpse. Boba averted his gaze so he couldn't try that Jedi shit again. "I worked on the droids. My uncle—I fixed them on his farm."

A mechanic. That was… actually useful. Boba considered, thought about how hard his dad would have slapped him for pulling something like this, then made a bad decision.

He trained his blaster on the slave, then keyed in the code for the door. It slid open to reveal night. The binary moons shone high in the sky, and the stars glittered.

"You—" The slave looked out the door, then back at Boba.

"You're coming with me." Boba said, gesturing outside. The slave stepped into the sand, watching Boba's blaster.

"You're… rescuing me?" He asked suspiciously. "Stealing me?"

"Not quite." I'm going to turn you in for the million credit bounty the second I can figure out how to trick the Imperial identification system didn't sound very nice, and it was easier to have someone walk onboard than it was to knock them out and carry them. "Call it a… a business arrangement. I need a mechanic. You need to get out before Jabba wakes up."

"So you're hiring me?" The slave crossed his arms. Boba gestured with his blaster and the slave started walking.

"Yeah." Whatever he paid the slave he could always just take back when he was safely ensconced in the Empire's grasp.

They made it to Boba's ship. The slave looked up at it, craning his neck. He exhaled, closing his eyes and spreading his arms, feeling the breeze, smelling the stink of fuel and exhaust.

"We have a deal?" Boba tucked his blaster away.

The slave stood for a few more seconds, breathing. Then he dropped his arms and opened his eyes.

"Deal. You can call me Luke. Luke Skywalker." He held out his hand. Boba grasped it firmly.

"Boba Fett. Pleasure to be working with you."

Well. It would be.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a star wars mood; banged this out in like an hour. Presumably Owen owed Jabba money and Jabba decided his kid was good enough.
> 
> I've always liked Boba, but his portrayal in the EU sucks. I guess it's Up To Me.
> 
> Please leave a comment, or hit me up over on Tumblr where I'm biofreak659.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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